


Samuel Clemens (and Friends) Abroad

by misura



Category: Five Fists of Science
Genre: Alternate History, Community: queer_fest, Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-13
Updated: 2012-05-13
Packaged: 2017-11-05 07:34:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/403926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two scientists abroad (to say nothing of their famous friend, a baroness and a strapping young lad who likes to wear dresses).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Samuel Clemens (and Friends) Abroad

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: _It's not that Tesla doesn't love people. He's got all sorts of romantic attachments, in his way. It's just that sexual contact is unnecessarily messy and takes away from time he could be spending on science._

"Mr Twain, sir, I'm really not sure if I'm comfortable with this."

"Be a man, Timmy."

"You're making him dress up like a woman."

"Ahem. To display true courage, sometimes, one only needs to be one's true self."

"I'm pretty sure my true self ain't wearing skirts, Mr Twain."

"And what would you know about it, hm? What, it's good enough for Huck, but not for Tim Boone?"

"Well, I suppose if you put it like that."

"Capital. Be sure to bring back some fresh food, there's a good fellow. And vegetables. Bertha's quite keen on having some of those for some reason."

 

"This," Nikola Tesla, Twain-proclaimed Master of Lightning proclaimed, "is unbearable. Intolerable. Unacceptable." There hadn't been a lot of lightning recently, which was possibly a good thing, Twain reflected, given the amount of time they'd been spending in the outdoors recently.

Made a fellow look at things in a different light, that sort of thing did. Quite healthy, probably - it certainly was unpleasant enough.

Thank God, there were still cigars. "My dear Tesla, you're exaggerating."

Next time they'd run into a bunch of journalists, he'd have to make sure to mention that to them: the great Mark Twain would not write for bread or money, but for a box of good cigars, he'd sell his soul. Proverbially, of course.

He wasn't sure yet if he'd add that last bit out loud. Might be interesting to see if anyone'd come to try and take him up on the offer - give poor Nikola something to do.

"I want my lab," Tesla said sullenly. "I _need_ my lab, Sam. I'm not kidding about this."

"Of course not. It's a well-known fact who the genius humorist in this company is. Best leave the joking to someone who knows what's what, eh?" A modest bout of pneumonia might be just the thing to get Tesla out of this sulking mood, Twain reckoned. Put him in bed with a good book or two.

Be up and about again in no time at all, a changed man. Another life saved by Twain's brilliance.

"My _lab_."

Pity there was never a lake nearby when you wanted one. "Relax, man. We're all a bit lacking in creature comforts these days. It'll pass. Something will turn up. You'll see. Besides, you've got your notebooks and you've got your equipment and a personal assistant, even."

"It's not the same."

"You know how long it's been since I've sat down for a decent dinner in some decent company? Naturally, one always hopes for the company to become a little bit less decent as the evening passes - not that I'd expect _you_ to know anything about that, of course." 

"I'm familiar with the theory. I simply choose not to involve myself in the practice."

"A perfect summary of my views on healthy living, politics and the high art of literature."

 

Guglielmo Marconi considered his present circumstances and decided that they were good. He had not been murdered by Edison, he had not been eaten by a man-eating yeti, and he was currently traveling through the countryside of Europe without a cent to his name in the company of Tesla, whose attempts at killing him had thus far consisted solely of glares.

A man could draw worse lots in life, surely, and find himself in poorer company besides.

"Are they disucssing a way to put an end to our present circumstances, do you think?" one part of said company asked, looking slightly less content with her lot in life.

Well, and why not? A Baroness was likely used to better. "Unlikely." Marconi wondered if she baked.

"Yes, I suppose so."

They were surrounded by empty air. Quiet air. It was a pity Tesla still didn't seem to trust him not to make off with any idea or theory the moment Tesla would choose to share it with him.

"I don't suppose you would have any suggestions for making myself more agreeable to our Master of Lightning?" There was a certain catchiness to it, Marconi decided. Not like the Wizard of Menlo Park, who just sounded like someone you went to see when you needed, well, a heart or a brain or a solid helping of trickery.

The Baroness shook her head. "He doesn't like hair. Or people touching him."

"Ah."

"Oh, and he's quite keen on getting a lab again. If you could swing that, he'd probably be quite ready to let you kiss him."

"Hm."

 

"Good news: nobody seems to be looking for us anymore."

Twain wondered if someone ought to inform Tesla that his assistant was still looking more like a waif than a strapping lad with solid taste in reading and a good head on his shoulders.

"Not a thing in the newspaper," Tesla confirmed. He was frowning, probably at some thing that _had_ been in the newspaper. Started with an E, probably.

"A local rag, no doubt." The great Mark Twain, disappeared, and not a peep out of anyone? Granted, it had been two months now, but even so.

"I got the Times, sir. Mr Tesla was very clear."

"Oh, stop pouting, Mark. People forget; it's what they do."

"Especially when it involves black magic and creatures from another frequency."

A likely explanation - if one was inclined to steal another man's ideas rather than come up with one's own. Granted, Marconi had done his bit at the end. Switched to the winning side just in time.

Saved all their bacons, if you looked at it in another way, which would be a bloody useless and stupid thing to do, clearly. What kind of story would _that_ be, Twain would like to know - saving the world because some fool decided to butter his bread the other way?

 

"Tim, my lad, I think the Baroness might want those back. If you're quite done with them."

"I - yes, Mr Twain. Of course."

 

For some eventualities, one could simply not be adequately prepared. Tesla in an unbuttoned shirt, wandering into one's room well after dark had not previously been one of them, though.

"Sex?" Twain had almost dropped his cigar, which would have been a tragedy, clearly.

"I am getting desperate," Tesla said, sounding it.

"Well, yes." It would have taken a bigger idiot than Marconi not to have picked up on that. "You miss your lab. Your sweet lady science."

Tesla frowned at him. "It's not female."

Twain gestured expansively with his cigar. He reckoned he was beginning to see the shape of things here, the gist of the affair. "Science is your wife, and now you are here, an innocent abroad, far from home and hearth. Perfectly natural your eyes would wander a bit - eyes first, and then letting your hands do the same doesn't seem like such a big deal, eh?"

"Really, Mark."

"Every man has been in your position, my friend. And Bertha, well, she is a fine woman - beauty _and_ brains, and what more could one ask for, eh?"

"She's not _that_ intelligent."

"Compared to you and I, all men are idiots. The attraction is perfectly natural."

Tesla looked baffled and possibly a little annoyed. "What attraction?"

"The - you said you wanted - well."

"Not with _her_. Dear eternal dynamo." Tesla's expression turned utterly appalled, which was a bit strong, surely; it wasn't as if Bertha was some sort of ogre. "Or with anyone else, for that matter," Tesla added, which took the edge off, a bit. 

"Oh. Book?" Twain offered. "Sneak preview, actually; I'm still thinking about a title."

"Thank you."

He ought to be calling it a night, anyway; time for bed and a good night's sleep, to be all refreshed and ready for another day of roughing it tomorrow.

"I simply thought it might help me sleep. Or make you feel better," Tesla said softly, before he closed the door, and it was a good thing Twain had handed him his manucript, because else, it might have gone up in flames.

Dangerous things, dropped cigars.

 

"You're a devil," Tesla said flatly.

"The sweet voice of temptation," the Baroness said. "I like it."

"Would be nice to have a solid roof over our heads. And he's offering you a lab, Tesla. You've been driving us all cuckoo with your whining about wanting one, and now here's your chance and you're turning up your nose at it?"

"Only a _small_ lab, of course," Marconi said modestly.

"A _small_ lab," Tesla said scathingly.

"Better than _no_ lab, surely?"

"Used to be mine," Marconi said, nibbling on a dry piece of bread that looked like it ought to have mould on it. "Before I moved. Been standing empty ever since."

"And where would this _small_ lab be?"

 

Italy. Good climate, friendly people, lousy cigars. At least they'd heard of Tom Sawyer and good old Huckleberry Finn, even if the name of Mark Twain had gotten him mostly blank looks. A matter of pronunciation, perhaps. Not a proper word of English among the lot.

"The Baroness said it was fine if I kept these."

"Good for you, lad."

 

"It's dirty."

Family, Marconi reflected, was an odd thing. "Dusty."

"Cramped," Tesla said.

"Small," Marconi allowed. He'd been gone for years, the black sheep of the family - always running around with these strange ideas in his head, and now here he was, back again, with a bunch of people in tow he thought of as friends, and nothing had changed at all.

"I suppose it will do."

"Good."

Tesla glared at him. Marconi blindly reached into his pocket and pulled out a cookie. Stressful, that was what being around Tesla was. Energizing, too. _Alternating current._

"Thank you."

" 's fine."

 

_epilogue_

"I may not be a scientist but, by God, I know a man I dislike when I see one. I ask you, my dear Baroness, is it men like these we should trust to rule this country that has provided us with a roof over our heads, and our beloved Tesla with a lab?"

"Mussolini doesn't seem like a man who's going to listen to reason. He doesn't appear to like your books either."

"What did I tell you? A bad egg, clearly. Well, he may not listen to reason, but I can tell you one thing he _will_ listen to."

"Really? What's that, Mr Twain?"

"The Five Fists of Science. Time to tell Nik to stop sitting around twiddling his thumbs and start building another giant metal man. The world needs it."


End file.
